


Awakening

by Andromeda (athalara)



Series: The Morpheus Cycle [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e20 The Siege (2), Established Relationship, John's POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athalara/pseuds/Andromeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John just wanted for Rodney to know the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting of an old fic to centralize my fiction here. Originally written in 2005 for the _1 Bdr Ocn Vu_ zine.  
>  Spoilers: Minor for season 1. Series goes AU after "The Siege II".  
> Beta by Gaia.

While he was piloting a Puddle Jumper in what he knew was a kamikaze mission to destroy the Wraith hive ships that threatened Atlantis, many thoughts swirled through John Sheppard's mind: things he regretted doing, things he regretted not doing, things he wished he had been able to say, things he wished he had been able to fix. But when he set the collision course and the Wraith ship loomed large in the Jumper window, only one thought was on his mind, one thought and one person: Rodney McKay, the man he had been sleeping with for five months under the magic of the night. But Rodney was also the man he had never had the courage to tell he loved, so afraid he of breaking the carefully woven spell of their nights together; afraid of losing him; afraid of not feeling his warm body under him, around him; afraid of waking up and finding out it all had been a dream.

But now, mere minutes away from his final demise, John had no reason to be afraid anymore. All his fears and careful control melted away, leaving him with a hurricane of feelings and emotions, summarized in the two simple words of their last conversation through the communications system:  
"Rodney?"  
"Yes?"  
"Love you."

He didn't care who else was listening. The only thing that mattered to him was that Rodney knew. The only thing he wanted was for Rodney to know he had not been used, that he had been loved in their silent nights together, that it had meant something, that it was something important. Then he activated the bomb's countdown and closed his eyes. 

John didn't know what to expect when the bomb exploded. He didn't know if it would be painful or if everything would be over before pain could even register. What he did not expect was the feeling of a transporter snatching him up to one of the Wraith darts that were fleeing from the destruction of their hive ships, taking him away from Atlantis, away from Rodney. Before he could react, a swift blow to the head plunged him into darkness.

He woke up inside a Wraith cocoon attached to a plain-looking chamber inside a hive ship. A male Wraith smiled cruelly at him, and explained with a great deal of detail what they were going to do to him in retaliation for destroying their hive ships: how they were going to torture him, slice open his skin, cut off his fingers one after the other, and inflict such pain that he would beg for them to end it. And then they would torture him some more. And perhaps after that, they would finally feed off him – if they felt like it. Or perhaps they would just torture him a little more. 

John just snorted, which only won him a hard punch in the gut. But nothing they could do to him would matter anymore. His people thought him dead. Nobody was coming to rescue him. But his heart was back in Atlantis, safe in Rodney's hands. What they did to his body was not really important anymore.

The Wraith delivered the promised torture. He had to hand it to them; they were very skilled at it: precise cuts like a surgeon’s that were guaranteed to hurt like hell but would not kill him; electric charges through his body, just powerful enough to not stop his heart. It wasn’t a mindless beating, but a series of precise, vicious blows where it would hurt the most. They didn’t let him sleep more that a couple hours at a time, feeding him just enough to keep him alive. Oh, yes, his jailers knew their business all right.

But, as it turned out, they couldn't feed off him. His ATA gene protected him from that, the same way it protected the Ancients. Anger and frustration didn't even start to explain his captor's reaction at learning that little fact. All the control his torturer had shown up to that moment broke in a fury of blows to his already bruised body. But he welcomed the pain. At least when “Billy” was hitting him, he shut up. When the Wraith took up his cutting knife, John was sure he was going to be sliced up for good this time. His torturer's knife was millimeters away from his chest when another Wraith intervened. It seemed this one was some big Wraith honcho (whom John named “Warren”, out of respect for one of the biggest assholes-in-charge he knew), more intelligent that your average garden variety Wraith. “Warren” correctly deduced that there might be other humans like him and that it would better if they studied him before killing him, on the off-chance of finding a way around the gene. 

That was how he found himself in a planetary Wraith research facility, hanging down from the ceiling by his bound wrists, being prodded, sampled, and experimented on by a group of Wraith scientists that, otherwise, took very little interest in him. 

He was weak, hurt, dehydrated, malnourished and sleep-deprived. His new captors didn't torture him on purpose, but their constant experiments had the same effect on his already weakened body. He frequently slipped in and out of consciousness. The only things keeping him sane were the memories of his nights with Rodney, of their sometimes gentle, sometimes passionate lovemaking and the faint hope that, if there was an afterlife, they would meet there again. 

When an Atlantean assault team attacked the facility, John thought he was dreaming. When they saw him, they thought they were. But then Ford cut his restraints, and his body fell like dead weight against Stackhouse. Between the two officers, they managed to get him out the facility before it blew up. 

It hurt. Each step they took, trying to jostle him as little as possible, hurt like hell. That, more than anything else, convinced him that it wasn't a dream, that he was alive.

. . . that he was going home . . . 

. . . that he would see Rodney again.

John held onto that thought to keep himself conscious. He pictured Rodney's face in his mind: Rodney, concentrating on a scientific problem, oblivious to everything and everyone else; Rodney, arguing with him for the fun of it, barely able to keep the smile off his face; Rodney, in the throes of passion, head thrown back and eyes closed. He let those images keep him awake on the painful journey to the Stargate, only dimly aware of Ford and Stackhouse's struggle to carry him. 

When they stepped through the Stargate, John immediately looked for Rodney with his good eye – the other had been swollen shut for a couple of days now. His heart almost fell, until he saw the man running down the stairs, two steps at time, worry evident on his face and pain lurking in his eyes. Rodney arrived at his side while Carson was loading him into a stretcher. John smiled and whispered his name.

"Rodney."

Before he let darkness swallow him whole, he saw in Rodney's eyes that he had heard.

John woke up several hours later, feeling extremely disoriented. He didn't know exactly where he was. A bed, soft sheets, bandages, something attached to his right hand . . . Rodney, asleep in a chair at his left side with his head on the bed, lovingly cradling John’s left hand between his. Everything came back to him then: the rescue, the trek, the Stargate, Rodney running down the stairs . . . .

John tried to move, but his body wouldn't cooperate. It was stiff and sore, pain lacing his right side even though it was evident, from the simple lack of more pain, that Carson had given him something. 

So, he settled back on the bed and observed Rodney. Sleep took several years off the scientist's face, softening his features. To John's eyes, he was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He knew he was biased, that a combination of drugs and gratitude and love were clouding his vision, but he didn't care. Rodney was there, and hope flared in John's chest, hope that his dream might be able to live in the light of the day, hope that Rodney might love him back. 

. . . hope that all his dreams might come true after all.

Some time later (John wasn't sure how much – his captivity had messed with his sense of time), Rodney stirred and groaned. No, he had never been a peaceful waker, his Rodney. John chuckled tenderly, and Rodney's head turned quickly to look at him, blue eyes looking desperately into hazel ones – well, into a hazel one, since the swelling had not gone down on the other yet. Slowly, as if he were afraid John would break or disappear into thin air, Rodney cupped John's cheek and John leaned into the caress, closing his good eye briefly to savor the touch he thought he would never feel again, a touch that filled his heart with love and warmth and a thousand other things he couldn’t put a name on yet. He opened it again to see Rodney looking at him, his eyes suspiciously moist, a tentative smile curving his lips. And John took a leap of faith.

"I love you," he told him softly, his breath caressing Rodney's palm. 

One tear rolled down Rodney's cheek as he answered, merely above a whisper: "Love you too". 

Shyly, tentatively, as if it was their first time all over again, Rodney leaned in for a kiss, his lips brushing John's, who opened his mouth and strained his neck to get more contact. Rodney took the hint, pressing his lips more firmly against John’s, letting their feelings take over: their love for each other acknowledged at last. The kiss became passionate and desperate, reconnecting them on a primal, basic, visceral level. Relearning each other's mouths, each other's taste, until the lack of oxygen forced them apart, they finally realized that this was it: this was reality. It was the end of the dream, but, at the same time, a dream come true.

They smiled, both flushed, and Rodney rested his forehead on John's. 

In that moment, Rodney McKay started to believe in forever after.

In that moment, John Sheppard started to believe that dreams come true.

In that moment, the rest of their lives began.

\- END -


End file.
